


Heir to Curse and Prophecy

by purplehedgehogskies



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: (from both PJO and WE), A spooky monster demon, Canon-Typical Violence, Encounters with gods, F/F, F/M, Gen, I'm bending the rules because that makes it more fun, Sisterly bonding & sisterly angst, There's a prophecy! and a quest!, Wayhaught but it's not central, Wynonna Earp PJO Crossover AU, the Earps are demigods in the PJO universe, wynonna earp au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-14 23:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13601100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplehedgehogskies/pseuds/purplehedgehogskies
Summary: Four years ago, a god appeared in the woods and told Wynonna it was time to make a choice.Four years ago, Wynonna left Camp Half Blood in search of answers, with a prophecy hanging over her head and a newfound hope that her missing sister is still alive.Four years ago, she left Waverly behind.Now, she's back, and she brought trouble with her.





	1. Camp Half Blood Gets Gargoyles

Waverly’s week began like any other. On Monday after breakfast, Nicole caught up with her—Nicole, a tall and lovely daughter of Athena with this fantastic hair that Waverly always wanted to touch—and offered to help carry her books to the Ancient Greek lesson in the amphitheater.

She lingered while Waverly got ready to teach, and while the younger campers drifted in a few at a time. Waverly asked if she’d like to stay, but quickly remembered that Nicole was already proficient in Greek. When Nicole smiled and left, Waverly was embarrassed and flustered and more confused than she thought she ought to be. She was even more embarrassed when she flubbed her pronunciation during the lesson and a thirteen-year-old snickered, but she recovered by the time her shift at the camp store began.

Tuesday was equally average. In unarmed combat training, Waverly was blocking each of Perry Crofte’s blows flawlessly until Nicole caught her eye across the combat arena. Her hair was pulled back into a tiny ponytail, her smile small and crooked as she wiped her face with the hem of her t-shirt and made Waverly’s stomach feel wiggly. And then it hurt, because while she’d been distracted Perry had managed to elbow her in the gut.

“That’s _gay_ ,” was all Jeremy had to say when she told him about it later, as he shuffled through the pile of damaged weapons outside the armory. He had told her he was going to melt them down, not to make more weapons like she expected but “for science,” whatever that meant.

It was in her head all night—the gay thing, not Jeremy’s mysterious intentions—so consuming that when she was cleaning the cabin with Perry and he asked how she was doing after taking that hit, Waverly said, “I think I’m gay. No! I mean, I think I’m _okay_!”

Perry peered down at her from the storage loft where he was dusting and clearing cobwebs and raised an eyebrow, but otherwise said nothing.

Wednesday, too, started out as Wednesdays usually did. After Ancient Greek, Waverly spent her morning peacefully crafting, listening to the indie covers an Apollo boy was playing on his newly constructed instrument while his peers worked. She was just painting the last scene on her Grecian vase, in which the maiden finally grasped the hand of her beloved, who Waverly was just starting to realize looked a bit like Nicole…

An explosion rocked the building, and Waverly’s vase toppled off of the pottery stand and onto the floor, shards landing in all directions.

She wished this was less than average, but with a climbing wall that utilized lava, children of the war god sleeping a few doors down from children of the mischief god, and a forest stocked with monsters, the occasional explosion was not unexpected.

What made it exceptional was the news that made its way down the hill so that Waverly could hear it heralded through the doorway of the arts and crafts lodge: Half Blood Hill was on fire, there were monsters swarming into the camp, and Wynonna Earp was back.

 ***

 

On the way up the hill, Waverly ran into Nicole.

“Heard your sister’s back,” said Nicole as they sprinted up towards the Big House, where a group of campers had already arrived to fight off the humanoid fleshy stone things that had somehow breached the camp’s barrier. “Too bad she brought hell with her.”

“It’s Wynonna,” Waverly said. When they arrived at the edge of the fray, she drew her matching _xiphoi_ and sliced through the first monster that came at her, carving through flesh and around stone until it fell away into dust under her hands. “Trouble follows her _to the bathroom_.”

Nicole barked out a laugh as she retrieved one of her crossbow arrows from the ground near Waverly’s feet. The next second, she was firing it into the swarm again; her powerful and semi-sentient arrows sometimes managed to go through two targets at once. Waverly tried not to pause and stare in awe when Nicole felled multiple monsters with one shot, instead plunging her blade into the gut of another beast.

With the number of campers that rushed to battle at a moment’s notice, the small army of monsters was quickly decimated and pushed back. Those that remained outside the gate turned and fled into the flames and smoke. Buckets of water and fire extinguishers were brought out onto the scene and medics went to the sides of wounded campers, toting stretchers and gauze and ambrosia.

Nicole knelt beside one of her younger half-brothers, offering a hand to hold while his wound was sanitized. Waverly left her there, her eyes scanning the crowd as the chaos fizzled into mild unrest.

A solitary figure in leather walked up to the archway protecting the camp, where the barrier rippled and sizzled somehow, as if a hole had been blown through the magic itself and left the gate intact. The figure blew smoke from the barrel of a gun and tucked it in her boot before cupping her hands around her mouth and shouting in a familiar voice: “And stay out, ya granite bastards!”

Waverly felt, for a moment, like no time had passed and nothing had changed. She felt like the Wynonna silhouetted against the midmorning sky was the same one she’d seen, years ago, framed by the light of the bonfire after Capture the Flag. She remembered that Wynonna had a flask in her hand that Waverly didn’t ask about and a blanket draped over her lap that she’d shared when Waverly sat beside her. Waverly hadn’t seen it coming; everything was as it always had been, and she didn’t expect anything to change.

But then she’d woken up the next morning to find that Wynonna had packed a bag and left before sunrise.

“I think they were limestone, actually,” Waverly said, joining her sister at the edge of the camp. “Judging by the color and consistency.”

“You been claimed by the smarty-pants society yet?” asked Wynonna.

“Nah, still the only unclaimed demigod in the whole darn place,” she replied.

The moment passed as all other moments do: swiftly, without understanding the meaning it was etched with, without paying mind to the years she’d waited or the way she felt or the long list of things she wanted to say.

Wynonna puffed her cheeks out and turned away, heading back down the hill towards the Big House, saying, “Well then I have some good news for you, baby girl.”

“Wynonna, wait,” Waverly said. Her sister paused, watching as Waverly caught up. When she stood before Wynonna, her sister softened—her eyes were warmer, her smile less devil-may-care. Waverly promptly made it disappear, giving her sister a swift punch to the upper arm. It wasn’t hard and probably didn’t truly hurt, but it was enough to make Wynonna scowl.

“Hey!”

“Sorry, sorry, but you deserved it.” Waverly took her sister by the shoulders and dragged her closer, wrapping her in a hug that felt like jamming mismatched puzzle pieces together, but was healing all the same. They didn’t fit the way they used to, but that would change in time if Wynonna stayed.

Wynonna gave into the embrace for a short moment, squeezing Waverly tightly and pressing her face into her hair.

This moment, too, passed too fast.

“Wynonna!” a voice—a shrill, grating voice that Waverly immediately and instinctively disliked—sounded from the porch.

“Waverly,” said Wynonna, drawing away from the hug but keeping one hand on her sister’s arm. “We’ve got some stuff to talk about.”


	2. A God Plays Capture The Flag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wynonna has some things to explain, starting with what inspired her to leave Camp Half Blood four years ago.

_Four Years Earlier_

There was a lot riding on this game of Capture the Flag. By other campers’ standards, it was just a regular old game on a regular old week—they weren’t playing against the huntresses or anything, and there wasn’t a special prize that would be offered to the winner.

But to Wynonna, there was a lot riding on it. Wynonna always had a lot riding on games of Capture the Flag, because she always made bets on the outcome with her cabinmates. Last week, she’d bet that she could sneak out of the forest and into each of the team captains’ bunks to steal something before the game ended. The week before, she’d bet against her own team.

This week, as a change of pace, Wynonna and the Stolls had made a bet against Nike’s girls that someone from their cabin would carry the flag across the creek; if the children of the victory goddess were victorious, the Stolls would have to give them best cabin next time they did inspection. If someone from Cabin Eleven captured the flag, Holly and Laurel owed them all some booze. If the red team won, the bet was null.

Losing the bet wouldn’t be bad. There was nothing stopping her—or Travis or Connor—from stealing a little something for themselves, but on top of the free libations they’d get to watch some of the most competitive campers _lose_. Any loss at all made daughters of victory squirm, even though it meant nothing in the long run; the very look on their faces as they handed over the winnings would be priceless.

So, Wynonna was determined to win.

From her spot beneath some bushes, Wynonna had already spotted her mark: the second flag guard. The Stoll brothers had taken out the first already and were going to cover Wynonna as she made off with the flag. Waverly was in the trees—an insurance policy if Wynonna was caught up with the guard too long or needed help on her way out. All had already gone as planned.

A clash of swords turned Wynonna’s head. Holly Victor was grappling with the flag guard. On her other side, Waverly whistled, her signal to call Wynonna to her side.

But Laurel Victor was running to the flag. Waverly was probably signaling her because of it, thinking that the Nike girls were going to carry them to victory and would need their help getting to the border. Waverly didn’t know about the bet—she never knew about the bets.

“Do you want to take that chance?”

Wynonna paused and turned her head again, to the place where the path forked. One path led to the sound of Waverly’s whistle, the other to the flag, which she could probably reach before Laurel if she booked it. Between the two choices, a man with two faces smiled and frowned at her.

“Okay, what?” asked Wynonna, stepping out onto the path. “I don’t know who asked you, or what you are, but you’re _in my way_.”

“In the way of what?” asked one face. It turned toward her when it spoke.

“The way to the flag?” asked the other, as the head turned the other way.

“Or the way to Waverly?”

“I don’t know, you’re just in the way.”

The left face scoffed. “You’re the one holding us up—make a choice!”

“A choice? You’re Janus, then. What do you want?”

“Silly billy, you’re at a crossroads! Between winning—”

“and saving your sister. She’s probably in danger.”

“Don’t talk like that, she’s fine! I’m sorry, he’s such a pessimist.”

Wynonna was getting whiplash looking between the two. She imagined that Janus _always_ had whiplash.

“This is hardly a crossroads,” she snapped. “It’s a game of Capture the Flag.”

“Let’s raise the stakes, then!” exclaimed one face. “One path is your family—it doesn’t matter if you lose, your bet was stupid anyway. What are you if you don’t help your sister?”

“But winning feels so good, Wynonna! You’re destined for bigger things. A life of victories and adventures and fun. Don’t listen to this guy, he’s just asking you to hold yourself back.”

“Could you shut up?” Wynonna asked, drawing her knife. “Or maybe you want another choice: You cut it out, or I’ll cut something out of you.”

“You shouldn’t leave everything you’ve ever known.”

“Don’t you want to learn who you really are?”

At this, Wynonna hesitated.

Life in the Hermes Cabin was okay for Wynonna. She liked them and they liked her. Sometimes, she felt like that was where she belonged, despite knowing that her godly parent was her mother. Ward Earp had godly blood and there were rumors of a curse on his head, but that was the only thing legendary about him.

Wynonna thought for a long time she’d known who her mother was. Michelle Earp had seemed so human; she was fierce, but she stayed. She loved them, but she left. She taught Wynonna so much, but there was so much she kept hidden. When Wynonna and Waverly had finally been found by another pariah demigod Xavier Dolls and brought to camp, they’d realized that Michelle Earp was a fabrication and they never knew their mother at all.

“What are you saying?” she asked.

Waverly whistled again, twice—it meant a warning. Or maybe it meant _help me._

“Sounds like she really needs you, Earpy. The clock is a-ticking!”

“The whole _victory_ deal is a little time sensitive too, so…”

“What does winning have to do with finding out who my mother is?” Wynonna demanded. “Why is that path my destiny?”

“This is all so much bigger than it seems, Wynonna! Waverly is safe, but you’re the child of a prophecy. There’s so much you don’t know, so much you’ve forgotten—”

“Digging up the past is bound to be messy. Your sister is here, and she’s going to get hurt!”

“Waverly is safe here,” repeated the cheerful face. “But Willa is out there, alone. Have you forgotten her?”

Wynonna dropped her knife in shock. She felt like throttling the god for teasing her, for finding the old wound that still ached and picking at it. But she couldn’t bring herself to move.

One of Janus’s faces usually lied, and the other told the truth. Which one was which?

“Willa is dead,” Janus said.

“Willa is _alive_ ,” said Janus.

“Wynonna, what are you doing? _We won_!”

***

 

“That was the night you left,” said Waverly. “Some sketchy god in the woods told you Willa was alive and you chose to believe him.”

“One face lied, one face told the truth,” Wynonna defended, her hands on her hips. Everyone in the Rec Room was staring at her; she felt watched and judged, and it made her angry. “I…I couldn’t figure out which was which.”

“The one who said I was in trouble was lying,” Waverly said, planting her hands on the table and pushing herself into a standing position. “I won the game for us that night, Wynonna. I carried the flag across the river.”

“I don’t remember which was which,” Wynonna said, feeling her voice raise just a little. She was annoyed that she had to repeat herself, that Waverly still fought her decision, that even the people who knew she’d done right looked like they didn’t really believe her story. Except Dolls—good old Dolls gave her that look. A look that made her feel calmer, but was also meant to keep her in check. “By the time it was over, I was just _confused_. But I had to make a choice, and I chose to leave. It was the right choice.”

Waverly looked like she had something to say, opening and closing her mouth a few times. She shook her head, doing away with the thought. She sat back down, schooling her expression to apparent impassivity (Wynonna could still see right through her) and asked instead, “Where did you go?”

“Where it all started, of course.”


End file.
